Chapter 11 He wished he could swim--the swimming belt felt like a flimsy thing and it had been no comfort to be told not to worry, the men couldn't swim either. Each time they rose he glimpsed the rocky shore, the cliffs, the absence of any kind of landing; each time they descended, the rocks vanished and were replaced by a liquid wall of gray. He closed his eyes. Thump. Dear God. He clung to the gunwale as they began to climb again and he saw, above the cliffs, a thousand birds soaring and wheeling. When the little boat tipped, and plunged into the hollow trough on the other side, he knew it would be for the last time. But after an hour on what one of the men described later as "an uppity sea," John Ferguson found himself safely deposited, along with his satchel and his box, on the narrow strip of sandy beach that turned out, in spite of appearances, to exist in the shadow of the monstrous cliffs. Oh the relief of feeling solid ground beneath the soles of his soaking shoes! Oh the relief of watching the water pour off his coat onto the hard-packed sand, and seeing, in the distance--as Strachan said he would--the Baillie house, pale and almost luminous in the silvery murk of the afternoon. With freezing fingers he unbuckled the swimming belt and tossed it cheerfully into the boat. He loosened his neckcloth and wrung it out and put it back on again. He squeezed the sea, as best he could, out of the sleeves and pockets of his coat and jumped up and down a few times in his sodden footwear in an effort to warm up. He thanked God for his deliverance. All that remained now, before the men pushed off back across the boisterous water to the Lily Rose , was for one of them to carry his box while he followed with his satchel, picking his way over the rocks like a tall, slightly undernourished wading bird, thin black hair blowing vertically in the persisting wind, silently talking to his absent wife: "You see, Mary, it is all right. I am here. I have arrived. I am safe. You have no need to worry. I will do what I have come to do and before you know it, I will be home." Excerpted from Clear: A Novel by Carys Davies All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
